


L'appel du Vide

by StarlightSoul (SaraSauce)



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Buddy Adventure across the US with Cliff, Dorks in Love, F/M, Higgs Monaghan Being Higgs Monaghan, Human Experimentation, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hope, Kidnapping, M/M, MC Swears A Lot, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Game, Reader has DOOMS, Reader-Insert, Saving Each Other, Spoilers, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, There's actual plot in here I promise, Time-Skip after Prologue, Undiagnosed PTSD, Unethical Medicine, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, like MASSIVE spoilers, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraSauce/pseuds/StarlightSoul
Summary: L'appel du Vide(n.)The unexplainable desire to jump when on the edge of a cliffCall of The VoidPorters are going missing. You and Fragile are at each other’s throats, and you’re still reeling from your incident ten months ago. And, on top of all your shit, life decides to drop a Cliff on you.
Relationships: BB-28 | Louise & Sam Porter Bridges, Clifford Unger/Reader, Sam Porter Bridges & Clifford Unger, Sam Porter Bridges & Fragile
Comments: 17
Kudos: 97





	1. Liminal

The first time you met Cliff was on the beach.

It had been weeks since Sam had gone after Amelie to stop the Last Stranding. Things had calmed down on the outside; Die-Hardman was establishing his presidency, not that any of you were focused on that. You, Heartman, and Mama had been searching for Sam the whole time.

Your ability was an odd one, as far as DOOMS goes. You couldn’t teleport your whole body like Fragile could, but you could send your Ka to the beach - even to other people’s beaches if you had a focus. 

The day you met Cliff had been hard. 

You’d had an honest to god, knock-down, drag-out fight with Fragile - it would have gone to blows had Heartman not dragged you away. You escaped to the beach after that.

You’d been doing that a lot lately.

You started at Sam’s beach, like you always did. But you wandered for hours, coming up with nothing. You were for sure in someone else’s by now. The borders between beaches were all fuzzy now - it was easy to slip into one you didn’t mean to. You could feel the change in your gut, energy shifting. There were people here, you could feel it, but the strands were so tangled you couldn’t tell them apart. So you picked one and went with it. Maybe he had wandered off this way, too. He had a hell of a head start on you, though.

You kept stumbling on until you heard whistling in the distance. You’d found someone! So you took off at a dead sprint towards the sound, even as you were telling yourself it probably wasn’t Sam.

As soon as the man came into view, you deflated. You hated when you were right.

He was tall, and handsome, and strong-looking, but you were disappointed all the same.

Because he wasn’t the porter that saved your life two. 

You let out a childish huff and plopped out onto the dark sand, exhausted. You would just lay down on your back and stare at the sky for a minute. Gather your energy. Then you would go.

The guy must’ve noticed you lying like a depressed starfish, though, because you heard footsteps, and then a crunch of sand as he sat down next to you. You didn’t bother looking over, instead opting to shift upright and stare at the waves instead, arms curling around your knees. The waves were more interesting than clouds, anyway. 

“I assume you’re not having the best of days, either?” His voice was warm and raspy, almost saying it like a joke as much as it was a real question.

You had to barely stop yourself from barking out a laugh, looking at him incredulously, but you were amused nonetheless. His eyes glinted with playfulness, a wry smile on his face, like your reluctant, surprised smile was exactly what he was going for. You rolled your eyes and looked back at the sea. “That’s a hell of a question to ask someone wandering around purgatory.” 

“I’m not wrong though, am I?”

You sighed, wistful humor draining out of you as you came back to reality. Your day had been shit. You shrugged, curling in on yourself even more. “ I had a horrible fight with one of my only friends. She made a decision to let a bad man handle his own shit. I think she should have killed him”

Oh, god, you were such a downer.

He didn’t seem to mind though, and looked thoughtful. “I’m sure she had her reasons for doing that.”

“Yeah, she wanted him to suffer the consequences of his actions or whatever, but, like.” You took a shaky breath in. A pit of dread opened up in you - you were starting to get upset again, chest clenching painfully. The cool air began to feel hot, suddenly. “He nuked a city. The world would be safer without him.” You clench your fists to stop your fingers from trembling and squeezed your eyes shut to stop the tears. Your heart hammered in your ears and for a moment you were back in your shelter, trapped and helpless again. You could still feel the blood all over you - your stomach, your hands. His _voice_. 

A brush on your shoulder made you flinch back with a gasp, but you opened your eyes and there was no skull mask staring back at you, only warm brown eyes and a sad, sympathetic look on his face. You were on the beach, looking for Sam. You were safe.

“You still with me, there?” He said gently, like talking to a frightened cat. You wished you knew what was going through his head, but at the same time didn’t have the courage to ask. Instead you nodded and worked on following grounding exercises, focusing on slowing your breath. “Need help?” You shook your head and stayed quiet, looking back out at the ocean.

Sand between your fingers. Salty sea air filling your lungs. The taste of the ocean. The heat of the person next to you.

Awkward silence weighed down upon you.

But you eventually calmed down.

You took one last breath and spoke, voice still unsteady. “I’m looking for my friend. He’s lost somewhere in here. I just need to find him so we can go home,” You glance at him. “You see a tired-looking dude about six feet come through here recently? Shoulder length hair, scruffy beard, porter gear on?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say that I have, sorry.”

You shrug, sighing and getting to your feet. You had expected that, but it still sucked. “Thanks anyway.” You gave one more look around the beach before you got ready to re-enter your body. “See you ‘round, I guess, if you don’t move on by the time I’m back.” You began to walk towards the water. You needed a cold shower to scrub off all your ugly feelings. You waded past the breakers, walking to hip-height. The next bit was always the trickiest - returning to your body from the seam. If you did it wrong you would wake up in the afterlife instead of your room.

A murmur from behind gave you pause, though. “I’ll be here.”

You look at him questioningly. Most souls didn’t feel like lingering on the beach for long. 

“I’m waiting for my son.” He says simply and with the same resolve you had, deep in your bones, that you would find Sam. 

You gave him a small smile and a wave goodbye. It wasn’t often you met people out here. And this guy was nice. He had a warm voice and soft eyes. Not to mention the fact he was handsome. You ignored that, though. You didn’t need to catch feelings for a dead guy.

You’d decided you liked him, though. “I’m Y/n.”

“Cliff.”

As you dove into the Seam and past the surf, you heard the faint sound of whistling pick up again. 

You hoped he found his son soon.

\--

You saw him three more times before Mama found Sam - and joined him for short chats each time. Only a few minutes long each, just as the first had been, but just as comfortable - he steered topics away from his family, though. You didn’t pry at obviously healing wounds, and he didn’t ask about your panic attacks. So instead you talked about the stars, and your plants back home that were probably dying, and how well the UCA was doing now that people were connecting. 

You liked talking to him. It was easy, really. He drew star charts in the sand for you, telling you about constellations and their stories, about Orion and Hercules. And you told him about your greenhouse, and cheesy action movies, and your cat, Rocky, and how to make little paper cranes. He whistled just to fill the silence.

Then Mama had found Sam, and your little “We-Love-Sam” club had been all hands on deck trying to get him home. 

Even after you got him back, the rest of the world was a whirlwind of activity and bureaucracy and you were just trying your best to adjust to your new nightmares that had replaced the old ones, and trying to repair your relationship with Fragile, and setting up new software systems with Lockne.

It wore you down more every day. You weren’t meant to be at Bridges, really - you were just a nerd who got pulled into this mess against your will. Being on such a short leash here in the city felt claustrophobic. And you were _exhausted_ , barely able to sleep because every time you closed your eyes all you saw was masks and blood.

You didn’t visit the beach for three more weeks.

You needed to go home, back out west past Lake Knot City. Where you had all the breathing room you wanted. No surveillance-state wrist cuffs or shitty cafeteria food. Come to think of it, your plants had probably all died by now. At least your mom had taken care of Rocky while you were away. 

Fragile was feeling better and was making runs again; she had agreed to take you home, despite how tense your friendship was. You felt bad for being so pissed at her, but every time you looked over your shoulder or thought you heard Higg’s voice, you got upset again. She wasn’t the one who hurt you but it didn’t matter. You weren’t safe and it was her fault. You didn’t know how long it would be before things were okay again.

Everyone else was staying for a while after Die-Hardman’s big speech, at least for a bit. And even though you knew to the core of your being Higgs wouldn’t dare show his face at Bridges ever again, you still had to leave before you broke completely. It was only a matter of time before you lost your shit cooped up like this. You needed your mountains back.

You had gotten Sam back and made sure he was okay. You weren’t needed here anymore. You needed to set up a new shelter, one that didn’t hurt you just to see. Maybe closer to the rest of your group this time. More secure. Better to get started now then wait.

You were on your way to meet Fragile when Deadman stopped you.

“Y/n, I know you’ll probably be busy back home, but I could really use some help. I’ve been looking into this Captain Unger figure that kept trying to take Sam’s BB, but I haven’t been able to get to the rest of his file,” He started, and you didn’t like where he was going with this. He needed something from you. “I know that it’s hiding there, somewhere in the network, but it has so many layers of encryption I can’t get through it myself.” He made a pleading motion with his hands, tilting his head and looking like a hopeful golden retriever.

This guy’s been pulling stuff like this for two months.

And you caved every damn time.

At least this time it was something interesting and not some stupid password algorithms. You sighed. “Yeah, yeah, sure, send it to me. But I’m still leaving now, Deadman.” You looked away from him as you pulled him into a hug, uncomfortable and blushing. You weren’t good with goodbyes or physical contact. “Take care of everyone, okay?” You mumbled into his blazer. Your voice almost broke.

“Of course I will.” He gave you a hard squeeze. You didn’t protest. “But you need to take care of yourself, too.”

It was bittersweet, really. You cared about everyone so much, but you were being suffocated. You needed to go _home_. 

And so you did.

Although, later that night, after settling into your new, empty shelter, and enduring dinner with your entire family like it was Christmas, you were already missing everyone.

You settled into your bed and opened your tablet, replying to Heartman’s sappy messages, assuring him that you would absolutely message him every day and would always visit him on the beach if he needed company. That was how you’d met in the first place. Lockne had run a few ideas through your DMs, but it was mostly just her way of working out a problem. It was clever shit, too, it was hard to feel helpful with her sometimes. 

By the time you got around Deadman’s message your eyes were drooping and you were fighting back yawns - but you figured you would read through what he already had before getting started in the morning. Just a quick skim-through, no big deal.

It was a big deal.

Because when you opened the file, you shot up with a gasp, eyes bulging practically out of their sockets. Your Cliff and Sam’s Cliff were the same Cliff! Holy shit!

You got up and paced restlessly, hands moving from your mouth to your head to your hips.

Fucking hell! He’d shot at Sam! Motherfucker! 

But he was so nice? And made stupid jokes, and helped keep you grounded?

You sat back on your bed, Rocky staring at you like you were nuts, and you ran through everything Sam had told you about Cliff. You fished through your memory, for when he recounted what nutso things Amelie had told him.

_“Apparently that Cliff guy was brought back to teach me a lesson or something? I don’t know what she meant by that, but it did seem like he was pretty out of it most of the time. I don’t know if he’ll be hanging around beaches again or not, but he shouldn’t be botherin me and Lou anymore, and that’s all that really matters.”_

Ah, screw sleep, you needed answers. This was going to keep you up all night, you just knew it. So you unpacked your PC and got cracking.

By the morning, you sent Cliff’s fully recovered file to Deadman. Sam deserved to hear news like that in person. His dad was… badass, honestly.

After that you slept until three PM. Then you went to the beach.

The world lurched around you as your soul left your body.

When you got to Cliff Unger’s - Sam’s Father’s - beach, there was no one there. Just the whistling of the wind.

He was gone.

You told yourself it was for the best.

You didn’t need to catch feelings for a dead guy, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the fastest I've ever written a fic.  
> And if I have to single-handedly carry the Cliff stans on the longfic front? Well, geez, I better get my power skeleton on!  
> I hope you all enjoyed it, don't forget to R&R!  
> Crossposted to Tumblr on [StarlightSoulWriting](https://starlightsoulwriting.tumblr.com/)


	2. Ecliptic

**__** _Eight Months Later_

It started with one.

One porter going missing on his way back to Mountain Knot Waystation.

It wasn’t uncommon - bad things happened to people out on the mountains. Even a small injury could turn deadly out there. What _was_ strange, however, was that GPS and communications went dark in the middle of a call. He’d been cut off mid-sentence with a scream. A search call had been issued as soon as his team lost contact - there’d been no time to waste. Whether he was alive or dead, they were on a clock. 

They searched for a week and a half.

There was no Voidout, no BTs, no crater - no porter. Bridges had even swept through with whole teams of people to make sure the MULEs weren’t up to something more shady than usual. There was nothing there either.

He had just vanished. 

_You_ couldn’t find him, either - and you’d tried. Even with all the Bridges cameras you ~~hacked into~~ borrowed and every facial recognition software the world had salvaged. The last trace of him was at his delivery. As soon as he stepped out sight, he was a ghost.

Then came the next two.

A small-town medicine runner in Capital Knot vanished a month later, and then only a week later it was a civilian. No-one had heard from any of them since they vanished. Some were theorizing it was something new - some new DOOMS phobia, or even theories of BTs that wouldn’t cause Void-outs. Others thought they had been taken by some psycho group like the now disbanded Homo Demens. There were lots of bad people out there.

But then a boy from your town went missing, and you were faced with the task of joining a search party.

Rami was a teenager with dreams of saving the world by making sure everyone had what they needed; he practically idolized Sam, and asked for an autograph every time he saw you. You didn’t have any, of course, but you _could_ tell him what an amazing job he was doing, and that people like him were the backbone of the UCA. 

He’d liked it when you told him that.

You hated the thought of him being stranded somewhere alone, with the threat of timefall and BTs still looming, no matter how rare. Even without that it would be hard - it was a long way from a Bridges medical center from here. Everyone in town had emergency medical training - but there was only so far that would go without more equipment - equipment Bridges hasn’t let you print because you’re independent, and only UCA gets high-level printing privileges. 

The team of doctors was a few days out, minimum.

So if Rami was hurt, he would be dead soon, terrified and alone. Winter was closing in fast. Nighttime would bring hypothermia, and with it a trip to the beach. And if he was already dead? It was a sure thing Voidout - one that would catch you and your family. Either way, bad news.

It wasn’t often you poked your head out of the shelter for anything but your greenhouse, but you scrambled into your timefall gear and strapped on your (fav color) Odradek nonetheless. Anxiety writhed in your chest, a pit gnawing its way through to your stomach. He was such a nice kid. You wanted desperately to find him, but were also all too aware that you probably wouldn’t - twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. He was probably just as disappeared as the others. You went out hoping you were wrong.

Others in your group scattered, too. There were only about twenty of you out there - one person missing was a huge deal.

You tried not to think of how lonely he must be out there. Your hands shook in your gloves, warmth beginning to flood your system. Your eyes watered as you remembered yourself growing cold on the back of Sam’s bike. Almost dying. 

But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

At the edge of your sensor line you paused and stared at the thin holographic strip that separated you and the rest of the world. It kept you safe - kept out intruders. Outside, all you had was yourself and your Odradek. This would be the first time in three months you stepped outside the comforting watch of your security system.

You were terrified.

But you had checked the security feeds this morning. There was nothing out here but your home group, a few MULE Camps and some BTs. Nothing that you hadn’t dealt with before. You’d been wandering like a porter by the time you were ten. But outside… was not looking very friendly at the moment. Not with people going missing. Not with Higgs still alive.

Cool wind on your face. Fall mountain air. The plastic crinkle of your suit. The soft ping of your Odradek. You focused on these things instead of your thoughts. He couldn’t get you out here. He had no reason to.

You stepped over the line. 

Now for the hard part. You were out of shape, but the terrain was the same you’ve been scrambling on since you were young. You knew which ridges were steeper than they looked, or which caves made the best shelter from the rain. You knew which ones led to cliffs, or which were best treated like a slide on the way down. Your breath came out as puffs of mist and your lungs were cold but you felt _home_ for the first time in months. If only it would last for more than just the day. But as soon as you found Rami reality would settle back in and you would hide again, this much you knew for certain.

Sometimes you could see people searching in the distance, but a quick ping said they were just other members of the search team. Even the MULEs were looking for him - you saw a few wandering - they knew just as well as anyone they were fucked if he necrotized. You wondered idly if your old friend Gurao was out searching with his band of gremlins. Probably. He was a thief but he kept his people safe.

Although maybe he would just want to jack the cargo Rami was carrying. Who knows. Probably both.

Either way, more people was a good thing.

You huffed up over a particularly annoying ridge - one you’d broken your leg on when you were twelve - and you paused, straightening.

Something was wrong here. Like someone had just _repatriated_ \- DOOMS wriggled around your senses, like a bunch of worms made home in your stomach and then took LSD.

This particular type of warning wasn’t like the one for BTs. No, this felt like the rippling waves that ran through the beach when Sam died and forced his way back. A pit opened up in your chest, and you started pinging your Odradek faster than was useful. It wasn’t picking up anything, but someone was out here! You could feel it. It wasn’t Rami - he wasn’t a repatriate - but it was still somebody who’d just died. Someone confused and hurt. 

Well, if your Dek couldn’t cut it, then you would just have to find them yourself.

You sat down, closing your eyes. There was no sign of anyone, at least that you could _see_. But you could find them, you knew it. You just had to be fast before you lost the thread. It was like knowing where someone was speaking from, even with a blindfold on - except much fainter, harder to discern. You made a face, eyebrows furrowing, trying to find where it was the strongest... 

There!

You shot to your feet, almost toppling over, and jogged-stumbled down the slope, catching yourself on rocks as you let gravity do the work for you. But it didn’t matter, you were running as fast as was safe. Repatriation was a horror show on a good day and literal, actual hell on a bad one.

You hoped today was a good day.

You turned a corner and into a shallow cave, heart racing. There he was, in mismatched protective gear, with no Odradek to be seen. He had containers of food and medicine with him, ID chips torn off the side.

You knew of these types. Desperate souls not in association with anyone - MULEs or Bridges. No permanent shelter, always moving. The type of people that ended up either dead or a villain with a tragic backstory, taking what lost cargo they could find and surviving. Of course he wouldn’t have an ID ping on your Dek, he didn’t have an ID to begin with.

He was still unconscious when you got close to him. He had obviously been here a while. There was blood puddled on the floor. His hood was up and he was just soaked in blood. So… so much blood. Blood on your hands, on the floor, it was everywhere...

You swallowed and pushed those thoughts away. That wasn’t helpful now. You could have a nervous breakdown later. (You also ignored your thoughts of the stories you’d heard about repatriates getting caught in death loops.)

You knelt next to him, pulling a med scanner from your belt with shaking hands. It wasn’t as accurate or comprehensive as the Bridges kit, but it would do. There was obviously a lot of blood loss, which you looked steadfastly away from - but it was in survivable range now. The magic of repatriation, you supposed. There were no open wounds or internal bleeding. Bones were fine. 

It was when you lowered his hood that you had the shock of the year.

It was Cliff! 

How the fuck had that happened? He’d been dead for forty years! 

Was there a time limit on repatriation? You didn’t know. Shit, you needed to call Heartman and ask.

You hesitated to touch his face to see if he had any lingering scalp damage - a lot of the blood had come from his head. Your awkwardness got the best of you and you went back to the scanner, mind going about a hundred thousand miles an hour, and your heart going about three times that. Who would you call first? Sam or Heartman? Sam deserved to know - but wouldn’t it be better to talk to Heartman first and get a grip on the situation _before_ involving Sam and risk upsetting him if this was just some cosmic “ _fuck you_ ”?

You stood up and walked out of the cave, taking a deep breath of the crisp, foggy, miserable fresh air. This was so fucked up. You pressed your hands to your face and forced yourself to calm down. Fucked up afterlife shenanigans or not, you would help him get back to wherever he set up his camp. You could do that. You helped randos out every once in a while, why would this be any different?

You ignored the voices that told you all the reasons this was stupidly, horribly different.

So you sat down opposite Cliff in the cave, fiddling with your comm after you had made a call to the search captain. You tried to push down your nerves and guilt. You really hoped they found Rami okay.

You tried to call Heartman, but it fell through. After waiting four minutes, you tried again. Still no dice. So, then you went to Sam’s contact... You hovered your thumb over the call button for a good five minutes, of two minds over calling him.

In the end, Cliff woke up violently before you made a decision, rolling onto his hands and vomiting slimy, black beach sludge everywhere. _Euch_. Smelled like rotting seaweed. Now this cave was double-gross. 

You backed up from him, just to give him space, but as soon as you shifted and made a noise, you were met with a pistol in your face. You shrieked and recoiled, falling clumsily onto your ass.

He was in perfect shooting posture, still as a statue.

You didn’t move, heartbeat pounding in your ears and drowning out the wind outside. You blinked hard to keep yourself from seeing a mask instead of a bloody, confused face. There was a long, tense pause, before recognition bloomed in his eyes and he slowly lowered the gun to his side.

He didn’t let it go, though. 

And you were crying.

“What are you doing here?” He rasped, disbelief coloring his voice. You weren’t sure if he was quiet because his throat was sore or if he didn’t want anyone to hear the two of you. You found you didn’t really care one way or another, you felt like were were going to shake yourself apart. 

You swallowed, still eyeing the gun and not answering. He finally holstered it after ejecting a round from the chamber. Had it been racked the whole time? You hadn’t even noticed it on his belt! You were such an idiot!

“I’m sorry for the gun. I thought you were the thieves that shot me.” He held out his hands in a placating manner. “Are you alright?”

 _Yes,_ you were safe and _you_ should be the one asking _him_ if he was alright.

 _No,_ you were on the verge of a massive fucking panic attack.

You were both okay and not okay.

But you nod anyway, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Never. Do that. Again.” You said in the most authoritative voice you could muster. It was still pathetic and shaky, but the point got through nonetheless. You were freaking the fuck out.

He looked sorry, though, he really did. And when he spoke, his voice was soft. “I would never dream of it.” He held out a hand to help you up. You took it. “I don’t make a habit of pointing guns at friends.” 

“Good,” You gave him a wobbly smile. “‘Cause then I would have to kick your ass.”

That got a laugh from him, at least. “So, what _are_ you doing here? I didn't think you’re the type to steal from random, unconscious men.” If he noticed his legs were wracked with tremors, he didn’t act like it. He’d lost a lot of blood - not everything was back to normal yet. You didn’t like the thought of leaving him alone like this.

“I was looking for a lost porter when I found you. Made sure you weren’t bleeding out or something.” You said, trying to keep your voice light. 

It was funny, that was how you’d met on the beach, too.

“I thought I had hidden myself rather well, but I guess blood loss will do that.” He looked down.

There was an awkward moment.

“You’re lucky it was me that found you and not someone else,” You look outside again, anything else but his face. “Anyone else would have stolen your cargo.” You licked your lips awkwardly. “Do you have a base camp set up or do you need to crash somewhere?”

He started gathering his things. “No thank you, I really have to be moving on,” He glances at you for a moment with a sad smile. “Thank you for caring, though.”

Oh no, he wasn’t. You _had_ to stop him from leaving. You knew to the core of your soul that if you let him go now, you would never see him again. 

“I’m a friend of Sam’s.” You blurt out, before immediately flushing. You’d sounded a lot more panicked than you meant to.

It worked, though, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around with a heartbreakingly soft look on his face, like he was afraid to get his hopes up. You could feel the relief come off him all at once from where you stood. “You know my son?” 

God, that sappy look on his face was going to kill you. You nodded and looked away, hugging yourself. You felt like someone else was ten times more qualified to tell him all this, like you were intruding on something private. But you were the one there.

“He lives out by Mountain Knot City with Louise.” You looked back at him for a moment before looking away again. “His daughter he adopted in spring.” 

He broke out into a grin, entire face lighting up. “Really?” 

This was too much, seriously. If he started crying then you would start crying and there were more important things you had to do than cry.

You were already blinking back tears when you answered him. But that smile was contagious, and you started smiling, too. You felt like you couldn’t help yourself. “Yeah, really. She was his BB. Saved his life, too. And he saved her right back. He’s been keeping a low profile, though.” You double checked no one was listening, and turned off your comm just to be safe. “He disobeyed an executive order to do it, too. Die-Hardman has ignored it for now, but if other people knew and started asking questions…” You shook your head and sighed. You didn’t need to elaborate on bad PR forcing Sam to be arrested or something. Can’t show preferential treatment to people committing treason or whatever. “I can call him, if you want.”

Cliff nodded and looked out at the landscape, looking somewhere between wistful and upset. “Yes, please.” Both of you ignored the way his voice broke.

He levels you with a calculating gaze suddenly, as if just now thinking of something. “You’re not with Bridges, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I try to stay away from them, actually.” You shrugged, acting more relaxed than you were. “They have a bad habit of listening in on conversations.”

It seemed like that was the answer he wanted. “Can you call Sam, then?”

You nodded and pulled up the call. 

And it went straight to voicemail. Were he and Heartman messing with you?

Damnit.

You sigh and put your hands on your hips. “Listen, Cliff. Sam doesn’t answer unregistered IDs. I can leave him a message and try calling him back later, but if you try to call him yourself he probably won’t answer.” 

“I don’t have a comm, anyway. But I can go find him now. And meet my grand-daughter. Thank you.” He rested a hand on your shoulder for a moment, before turning away.

Was he seriously trying to leave again?

“Are you seriously just going to leave and walk there all by yourself?” You speed-walked after him - he was way ahead of you already. You cursed his long legs. “You don’t have and Odradek! Or supplies, or even a _tent_!”

“I’ve been fine so far, y/n.” His tone was dismissive, like he was a teenager waving of his mom’s concerns. The nerve of him! You weren’t going to be waved off! There were easier and faster ways across the continent than _walking off by yourself with almost no supplies._

You planted your feet and crossed your arms. He wasn’t going to be this stupid, was he? You _knew_ he knew better than this. “Can you tell where BTs are? Do you know where to hide and how to avoid them? Have a weather map? Know the locals and how to negotiate with MULE camps - which ones even _can_ be negotiated with? Do you know the mountains like you know yourself? Because I do. And going out alone without GPS and comms is just stupid.”

“No,” He stopped, turning to you. He didn’t even look insulted! Did this guy fancy himself invincible just because he’s a repatriate? “But it doesn’t matter; I’m going to see my son. I’m not stopping now that I finally know where my family is.”

“I’m not trying to _stop_ you,” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m _suggesting_ that you could stay for a few hours. I can call Sam as many times as I need to to get through to him. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been looking for so long, but if you rush into this you could cause a Voidout, even if you repatriate, and people will end up dead because you were impatient. So either you cool your jets and wait while I make dinner, or I follow you across the damn Rockies and be a general nuisance.” . You really didn’t want to follow through with that threat, but whatever. You would do it. “Besides, there’s a friend of mine that can take us there almost instantly, if she has the time to visit. Then you wouldn’t even have to risk the trip.”

It only took a moment’s hesitation before he looked away, seeming miffed, but he relented anyway. “How could I say no to a warm meal.” He said, as if the food was what convinced him to stay and not the possibility that the month-long trip through the mountains could be completely skipped. 

It took the rest of the hike back home to work up your nerve and speak. “Look, Cliff…” You sigh as you approach your shelter. “Do you like. Need to crash on my couch for a few days? I have plenty of food, you can use my shower, I can get some clothes that aren’t, like. Super bloody. I keep supplies on hand for wanderers that might need them.”

You focused or unlocking your crazy number of locks instead of looking at him, a flush taking over your face and ears. You tried not to make assumptions, and it would be really embarrassing if he took your offer as an insult, but Cliff looked… rough. Judging by how Sam handles things, he would refuse you out of politeness alone. Something about not wanting to be a burden. You looked back at him, your lips pursed in thought.

You opened the door, speaking up again. “You’re definitely changing your clothes, actually. I traded a lot of good shit for my furniture and I don’t need blood on it.” There was no room for argument here.

At least now he was laughing. “You’re too kind, thank you. I promise I’ll be just the one night, really, I’d hate to impose.”

Called it. 

You showed him the bathroom and pulled out some simple, soft, black clothes for him. You were paranoid, yes, but you always made a point to keep extra everything in case anyone nearby was injured or needed help. You hadn’t used them since you made your new shelter, though. “It’s no imposition, really. My nickname with porters is the Innkeeper,” You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “Stiched up a good number of folks in my time and sat through blizzards with a few more.” You smiled at him, hoping to make him feel welcome. “Besides, Sam would kill me if he got here and you were already gone.”

You would have pat him on the shoulder on your way out, but he was still covered in an obscene amount of blood, and you didn’t need that on you. _Especially_ not on your hands. Ich. So instead you settled for a simple “Don’t use all the hot water,” as you left.

In the hallway back to the main room, Rocky came up to you, chirruping impatiently. You scooped him up and held on to him for a minute, letting him calm you down. His soft fur and rhythmic purring grounded you. You knew you were being silly, but you were a rubber band ball of anxiety, threatening to snap. Cliff was a good man. You knew that. Sam had told you about his memories when you had brought gifts for Lou. You knew this. He had died saving him. He was a goofy dancer who loved christmas and space and sang lullabies.

Didn’t stop your hands from shaking, though.

You didn’t let people in your shelter anymore, not even your parents. 

But for Sam, you would deal with your shitty mind for the night.

So you sat down at your computer, opening up your usual programs. There was only way you would calm down anytime soon and you knew it. 

You checked your own video feeds first. No-one outside your local shelter group was in the area. Everyone’s phone pinged back with the normal list of IDs. Your perimeter was fine - It had only seen you for the past week, and then Cliff this afternoon. 

Next was the Bridges security feeds. You tapped into the full network of cameras and ran a facial recognition search for about the hundred millionth time in eight months. Higgs, last time the cameras had seen him, was still just hanging out past the tar belt with a bunch of MULEs two weeks ago. Yukking it up with a bunch of thieves. 

He didn’t look miserable, which made your blood boil. But he wasn’t anywhere near you and that’s the important part. You were safe for now. There was no way he could make it across the tar belt and all the way out here in that time, right? And besides, his beef wouldn’t be with you. He had no reason to ever come back here.

But your gut churned even in the presence of cold hard facts. You felt like you were gonna puke.

Trauma was a real son of a bitch.

Still, the probably-unhealthy surveillance had reassured your safety. That was what mattered. Your trembling hand hovered over your scar for a moment, not daring to touch it.

Making dinner would be a welcome distraction. Guests always were.

-

Cliff was hesitant to accept your offer, at first. 

He _knew_ this was the smart way to go about things. Getting to Sam was his priority, even if he had to risk trusting you. Which was hard, even if he considered you a friend.

Friends had stabbed him in the back before.

He hadn’t trusted anybody since he woke up next to the lake, freezing in the early spring winds, with nothing, not even clothes on his back.

Going to Bridges had been out of the picture - it didn’t matter who was in charge now. He had no idea what to expect of them - if they were just as untrustworthy as before. He wasn’t willing to stake his life on the chance that the company had changed. He wasn’t trusting them a second time.

So he stayed alone, chasing rumors of his legendary son and where he had disappeared off to. But he was a ghost. As soon as he came across someone who knew him, they just as quickly told him they had no idea where he was. With the UCA you would think these people would know how to find each other, but apparently the public didn’t have access to location records, and Sam had kept himself off the map.

He had been close to caving and finding John when you had found him, roughed up and shot at by MULEs after his measly supplies. He was a good soldier and knew how to pick his battles, but they’d had a truck and a seemingly endless amount of bullets.

He’d only had a handgun.

So he would stay with you, for now, and find is son, and then everything would be okay. You didn’t seem the type to betray him. (But then again, neither had Bridget, until she had.)

But he had enjoyed your visits when he was trapped on the beach. He had been so desperately lonely and then you were there, with soft smiles and corny jokes and you let him tell you about the stars. You kept him sane in purgatory.

And here you were again, saving him, and he was still just trying to find his son. 

And he was still horribly, terribly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff’s Alive! Yay! Get ready for a wild ride guys, cause I’m just getting started! Who knew a Kojima game would end up being my muse, huh? I sure didn’t.  
> This was my first week of the new semester so I didn’t get to write as much as I wanted but I’ve gotten at least some more stuff on the master doc.  
> I hope you guys enjoyed it, don’t forget to R&R!  
> Edit: Removed Mention of M/C's Parents.


	3. Kindling

**__** _Skull masks._

_Blood on your hands. blood on the floor._

_Knives. So many knives, all in your stomach and chest. When had that happened? When had you let Higgs back in your shelter? Why would you do that?_

_Sam was dead. Cliff was dead. And Heartman and Lockne and Deadman and Fragile. All dead and you would join them soon._

_Higgs laughed at you when you cried._

_**"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”** _

You startled awake. 

Tears streamed down your face, and you rolled over to throw up in the trash can, shaking like a leaf. _Stupid brain,_ you thought, _stupid nightmares, stupid **Higgs**_. You coughed past your stinging throat, trying to breathe evenly but hyperventilating instead. Your scar stung in your stomach, despite nothing being there. The memories were enough to set it off.

You kicked your sheets off of you and stumbled to your bathroom, legs shaking. You needed a shower, and badly. You pressed your hands against your eyes, massaging your face in a hollow effort to calm yourself down. You felt like your lungs were made of sea urchins.

You missed the DOOMs nightmares. At least those hadn’t been so personal, so painful.

You stood under the tap and let the scalding water run over your body, forcing all the memories from your skin. His laughing, the knife, your blood - you scrubbed yourself off as if water could wash away your dreams, your flashbacks, the lingering feeling of his knee on your chest, holding you down. 

When you made it to your jaw, you wanted to scream. You opted to slap the tiles of your shower instead, so hard it hurt. The phantom feeling of his tongue clung to your skin like tar, and the soap didn’t help, no matter how hard you tried to wash it off. 

_Let's see how fast Sam can run._ His voice intruded in your head again, a record stuck on repeat, grating in your ears and spiking your heart rate. It wouldn’t go away, you could feel his hands on your neck, the knife at your side, digging in just enough to bleed. 

Hot water, cold tiles, your favorite soap. Grounding was only helping so much. 

You dug your hand into your thigh, nails digging in deep and stinging. You sang some old rock song to drown out the noise. He was far away from you. You were safe. You didn’t need to worry.

You don’t know how long you stayed in the shower crying. After a while it stopped, and left you feeling detached from your body, numb. You were raw and your skin was bright red, but you weren't covered in vomit, so that was something. 

You turned off the shower.

You curled up in your blankets and called Heartman. You knew he might be sleeping, but there was a chance he would be up. Your hands shook as you found his contact.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked after the second ring, voice rough and tired. A wave of relief went through you. Heartman’s voice could drown out _his._

“No, Heartman, I’m not okay.” You breathe, pulling the blankets over your head and burrowing in. It was dark except the soft blue glow of your comm. “I can still hear him. He’s on the other side of the continent and still won’t leave me alone.”

“What do you need? Should I put on my music?”

“Sure,” You needed to keep him on the phone, you could focus on him instead of your nightmares. “I’d like that.”

Neo-Classical music played over your speaker as he shared it with you. You closed your eyes, listening to the soft piano. This wasn’t the first time the two of you shared a late-night call.

“I can still feel it, sometimes,” You started again, just over a whisper, restless. “The knife.” You gulp, trying and failing to shove away your thoughts. “I’ve been doing everything Julia said would help but it’s not going away and I’m still _so afraid,_ all the time,” You stopped talking when your eyes welled up, shutting your eyes harder as if that would stop the tears.

“I’m sorry,” He said simply, voice heavy. “I wish there was something more I could do to help. Do you want me to come over for a few days and keep you company? Or would that just make it worse?”

“I already have a visitor, but... Maybe after that.”

“You took in a guest?” He sounded surprised, but why wouldn’t he? You only let him and Sam in. Not even Lockne or Deadman, no. Or friends you’d known in your old shelter. You didn’t run your clinic or tours anymore, either. Too many strangers. Too dangerous. Not since you came back. Not since _Higgs_.

Not until Cliff.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “He’s a friend. Just needed a place to stay for the night.”

Heartman was quiet for a moment. “Do you think that’s why you had a nightmare tonight, having someone there? I know that’s a… sensitive matter.”

You sighed, not wanting to talk about technical aspects of your trauma with him. “Maybe,” you bit your lip and played with your fingers, itching to make paper stars but not wanting to move out from under your blanket mountain. “I’ll bring it up with Julia, though.” You said to reassure him more than yourself. You hated the thought of him worrying about you.

So you changed the subject, breathing starting to level out. You had so many thoughts running through your head about Cliff, you needed help figuring it out. “Hey, Heartman… some things happened yesterday that sound really crazy.” You took the risk in asking. You needed to know. “Promise me you won’t think I'm nuts?”

“Cross my heart,” He replied, going along without question.

“Is there a time limit on repatriation? Like, could someone be on the beach for ages and then come back just fine?”

“I suppose, as long as the body wasn’t destroyed, there shouldn’t be any reason they couldn’t. Why do you ask?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, mulling over your next words. “What if there wasn’t a body left?”

“Then there’s nothing for the soul to return to. They’d be trapped,” He paused. He’d heard the tension in your voice. “What’s wrong, Y/N? I thought you weren’t going to the beach anymore.”

He was right, you weren’t. There was no point in going unless it was to keep him company. “I didn’t find him on the beach. It was out in the mountains.” You stopped, bracing for his reaction. He was going to think you were insane, you just knew it. “He died forty years ago. He says he just woke up out by Lake Knot in spring. I know it’s true, too, but it’s making my brain explode trying to work out how it happened.”

There was a long silence. You tried not to think of how he was probably calling Julia, your therapist.

“You’re absolutely certain of this?” He said, eventually.

You nod absently, before remembering he can’t see you. “One hundred percent. I have his file and everything. How he died, the date, the cremation records - everything. I met him on the beach when I was looking for Sam, even.” The knot in your chest was untangling itself as the one in your brain wound itself tighter. “But here he is, alive and talking. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“I’ll call Fragile and have her take you both here right away then, this is unprecedented.” He started, voice picking up speed. “If what you’re saying is true, this could revolutionize the way we think about repatriation, especially in the wake of Amelie’s separation. There might even be a direct correlation - you said he woke up in spring? There might be unforeseen instabilities in the beach gone completely unnoticed -”

“Heartman.” You cut him off, wincing as soon as you did it, but you had to stop him before he got too far in. “Fragile is already taking him to Sam.” You’d gotten through to him after dinner, and given Cliff and him privacy by staying in your room and making an absurd number of paper stars. Fragile would be there in the morning to take him.

“Why would you take him to Sam’s?”

You were quiet as you double-checked your connection to make sure it was secure. Bridges liked to monitor the networks, to eavesdrop. “You’re using the VPN I sent you, right?” Your voice dropped back down to a whisper. 

He must’ve sensed your seriousness because he responded in kind. “Always, of course.”

You hesitated. You could trust Heartman, but did he really need to know? Would Cliff be mad? Surely Sam would tell Heartman, himself, right?

“Y/n?”

“It’s Sam’s dad,” You breathed, barely hearing your own voice. “It’s Cliff Unger.”

...

_“Fascinating.”_

\--

You’d given up on trying to get back to sleep at about four in the morning, opting to work on some projects instead. Or, more accurately, obsessively making origami to distract yourself. It gave your hands something to do, your mind something to focus on. Your works had become increasingly more complicated, thanks to network access. You could make anything you wanted. That morning you were working on an Asian dragon design you messed up three times before.

Cliff woke up just after than four-thirty, with bags under his eyes. Both of you were surprised the other was up so early, but neither of you pried. You didn’t ask so he wouldn’t. You assumed he did the same.

Breakfast was easy and quiet. You worked on making omelets while he cooked roasted vegetables with potatoes. They were really tasty, too. You missed having someone to cook with. You enjoyed making meals with people, so the comfortable dance around the kitchen with Cliff had been a breath of fresh air. These days you only got to cook for Sam, Louise, and Heartman, and their visits were few and far between for obvious reasons. You hummed a song as you flipped the omelets. You missed Cliff’s smile, but soon he was humming along too, baritone ringing through your quiet house.

You felt less alone, then. You wished he would stay.

Somehow your morning silence was comfortable and awkward at the same time. The eerie quiet of the early morning did that, sometimes. He thanked you again for letting him stay and you thanked him for helping with breakfast. He’d scoffed at that, saying that was the absolute least he could’ve done - he wasn’t a freeloader.

Then he made a pun about his roast potatoes being “Spudtacular.”

You groaned. Dad jokes!

Afterward, at around ten, you were taking care of your indoor plants while Cliff read some recent history title in your favorite armchair. You were looking forward to seeing Fragile - it had been a few months since her last visit. Tension was still thick between you, and you were pretty sure it would linger until you felt safe. But you were trying, and that’s what's important. Both of you were, delicately avoiding reference to Higgs. It’s worked for the most part, thankfully.

At least if Rami - who still hadn’t been found - caused a Voidout, she and Cliff would be out of implosion distance. That was good. Sam didn’t need any more tragedies. You would’ve been out looking still, but there was no way in _hell_ you were leaving someone alone in your shelter unless it was actively on fire, no matter how much you may or may not have liked them.

You looked over at him then. Talking with him had been difficult, like pulling teeth. Harder than it had been before, when you were on the beach. It was frustrating. You were too nervous to start a real conversation with him, too. He was quiet and closed off, and answered you distantly when you tried, redirecting to jokes instead of real answers. He had shut you out.

You supposed both of you were out of it. He’d been through hell in the past you months, you could tell - the weight lingered on him like useless cargo. And after your nightmare and panic attack that morning, you hadn’t felt like talking much either. Maybe he just didn’t like relying on people, and you shouldn’t take it personally. 

It was nice, though, having company. Just his presence was reassuring, conversation or no.

Rocky liked him, too, which was something. He’d been bothering him all day, headbutting his hand to demand pats, and persistently returning to his lap time and again, purring happily. Cliff seemed to like the attention, too, whispering baby talk to him as he purred. It was unbearably cute, seeing him so sweet with the cat, and you had to turn back to your plants before you turned into a puddle of goo. He obviously needed his space. And he was leaving today; there was no use in feeling such a mess over it.

You continued to tend to your African Violets, their fuzzy leaves brushing your fingertips. They weren’t blooming yet, but it looked like they would soon. It would be nice to have a bit of color in the house again.

Cliff caught your attention again soon enough, though, with a sudden, rich laugh - and his smile actually reached his eyes. You were confused for a moment, he was reading a non-fiction book - but then you noticed him looking at Rocky’s name tag like it was the best joke he’s ever heard. Then he looked at you, light in his eyes, and your heart twisted. 

Oh boy. Here it comes. This was too embarrassing. 

A scarlet blush worked its way up your face.

“You…” he stammered, interrupting himself with a chuckle. “You named your cat Rocket Launcher?”

Yes, you had. 

You wanted to die.

“Yeah,” you choked out, fighting your urge to run and hide. His megawatt smile kept you in place, though. Your stomach was doing backflips.

At least he had your sense of humor.

You turned back to your plants to avoid his gaze, face hot with embarrassment. His laugh echoed quietly behind you as he whispered baby talk to said cat named Rocket Launcher. This man would be the death of you, you knew it.

\--

Your anxiety had started with unease at eleven-thirty. Then it escalated to worry at noon, then to actual distress by one; you were going to make a wear pattern in your carpet if you kept pacing like you were, but she _never_ missed time. Something had happened.

Fragile hadn’t shown up by three. She was supposed to meet you at eleven.

So you were worried. Like, there’s-no-way-you'll-sleep-tonight, can't-eat, shaking-ball-of-mess worried. You were short with her, but god, you still _cared_. 

You called her at twelve. And at one, and at two.

Her comm didn’t even ring, it went right to voicemail. All three times. Maybe it had just run out of power, you told yourself. And she was busy with an emergency delivery? You hoped it was as benign as that, but you had a sinking feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

Sam called you at two, asking why you were late. You told him you would call him back if Fragile didn’t show up for a while longer. So, when you called him at three he picked up right away, your fingers tapping against your thigh in a nervous rhythm. His hair was messy and he looked even more tired than he usually did. He was just as worried as you.

“I’ve tried to get through to her, but there’s nothing.” You started, voice unsteady, “You get anything?”

“Nah, no updates since last night.” Sam wasn’t the most expressive of men, but you heard the stress in his voice loud and clear. He had no idea where she was, either.

Your brain was going a million miles an hour, trying to see if there was something you missed, something you could do, someplace Fragile could be where she’s safe. “I’ll call Lockne and Heartman,” You said, hoping someone else would know, “Can you check in with Deadman and the President?”

Sam looked at you like you’d asked him to hike across the US a third time, but he nodded. He was far more likely to get through to Die-Hardman than you were and he knew it, even if Sam was walking on eggshells. He would want to help.

At that point you felt heat on your back. It was Cliff walking up behind you, getting in view of the camera. Most people wouldn’t have been bothered by it, but you moved aside anyway, giving him space. You didn’t like people close to you anymore; it made your gut churn.

Although this time you weren’t sure if it was because you didn’t like people close to you or if it was because you really liked _him_. So you did the logical thing and ignored it. There were more important things to do than ponder your personal space issues.

\--

Cliff was _beyond_ frustrated. How many more things would keep him from Sam? He ran his hand down his face with a heavy sigh. These past eight months had been the longest year of is life. But nothing could stop him, universe be damned. If fate wanted to make his journey hell, then so be it. It was nothing that had stopped him before.

So he decided that if you two hadn’t found your friend by morning, he would have to take that hike through the Rockies, BTs and all. Of course, he would have loved to stay with you, but he knew the longer he did the harder it would be to leave. He’d gotten an amazing night’s sleep for the first time he can remember, and the only meals that weren’t freeze-dried. It would be best if he didn’t linger. He couldn’t get complacent, he should move on as soon as possible. He could rest when he on the other side of the mountains.

He spent his time that afternoon going through possible routes on your map, let you handle things yourself. But then he heard you mention John, who now called himself by his war name, Die-Hardman. It chilled him to his core; the thought of his best friend wearing _Bridget Strand’s mask_ was enough to make him ill. He didn’t blame John for Strand killing him, but to wear her mask? He’d made it clear what was important to him, so Cliff hadn’t bothered him when he was so clearly busy upholding the legacy of a murderer. 

So he joined your call with Sam. It was unnerving, these holograms. Sam was so solid, but hundreds of miles away from him still. Like a mirage in a desert. Cliff didn’t even notice you tense up until you stepped aside. He would have to be more careful with you, then, you seemed on edge and he would hate to make you uncomfortable.

He focused on the call, though, conflicted. “Sam, please don’t mention me to John. I don’t know what I would say to him, I’d prefer if he didn’t know I’m… traveling.” He had to stop himself from cringing at himself. _Traveling,_ truly an amazing euphemism for being back from the dead, way to go.

Sam’s brow furrowed just enough to see. His son was quite the stoic, it seemed. “Don’t you think he could help set you up out here? He would come all the way out here himself if you asked. He... “ Sam was uncomfortable for a moment, crossing his arms and looking away from him. “He never really got over losing you. He thinks it was his fault.”

Cliff closed his eyes hard and shoved the guilt deep, deep down. His resolve would crumble if he let himself think too much, and that wouldn’t end well, not then, not while he was still so hurt. “Later, Sam.” He forced passed his teeth. His tone didn’t leave room for argument.

He would sort it out later, surely. He had priorities. 

He would talk to John.

Eventually.

When he disconnected the call you were already working on your computer.

You had multiple screens set up, and at least ten programs open. Were you pulling up security cameras? He put his hand on the desk and leaned in to get a better look, careful not to intrude in your personal space too much. 

Technology had improved so much during the time he was gone that he could barely tell what you were doing. He knew you were busy, though, so he suppressed the urge to question you about every last detail. He hated not knowing how things worked, especially as someone who _used_ to know tech like the back of his hand. It made him feel all the more out of place than he already did. “What is this? You said you were going to call your friends?”

You nodded absentmindedly, focusing on the screen. “I _will_ call them, after I look for Fragile myself.” You pulled up another program and dragged in a headshot of a blonde woman Cliff assumed was your friend. The software mapped her face and started combing through the video feeds. You busied yourself with some other program while the facial recognition ran. 

Cliff tensed - there were Bridges logos plastered in the corners of the videos you’d pulled up. You’d told him you weren’t affiliated. Would you lie to him? What did you want? “How do you have these feeds? Bridges has a strict no-access policy.” He grit out, trying not to sound too high-strung - he didn’t need to make more problems for himself.

“I gave myself access.” You stammered. You sipped your coffee and kept working, not looking back at him. He studied your face, searching for any sign of a lie. He _wanted_ to trust you. But he couldn’t trust the company that killed him and took Sam. You mostly just seemed embarrassed, though, there was no sign of you lying. Just a focused, serious look in your eyes. “They’re bullies,” You continued after a moment, more spite in your voice than he would expect. “They can take their secrets and drown in them for all I care.” Your fingers rapped on the desk as you worked.

He couldn’t say he _condoned_ hacking into confidential servers, but they _had_ shut him out, too, so…

Maybe it was petty, but Bridges’ security being breached by a civilian was hilarious. Good for you.

As you continued working he grew uncomfortable, though - restless. There was a tightness growing in his chest. He knew there was nothing he could do to help you. Nothing short of finding Fragile would. He’s had too many men go missing in action - he was used to the distressed searching, the anticipation, the threads of hope that would keep you searching. But he wasn’t used to being _useless_. He’d always prided himself in his ability to work through a crisis, so being obsolete was an unwelcome, grating itch on his nerves.

He needed something to _do_.

He squeezed your shoulder lightly in what he hoped was a comforting manner. You met his gaze with a tense smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Is there anything I can do?” He asked simply, praying you would respond.

You sighed. “Not really, but thank you.” You squeezed his hand softly in response. 

Damnit.

That sad and grateful face you made was almost physically painful. It worried him, how quickly he had grown attached to you. But he supposed it was inevitable. You had been there for him on the beach. You had shown him the way home. Following you into the water had been a long-shot, desperate move on his part - but it had worked. He was alive, and had a chance to spend time with his son.

All because you had been a kind stranger when he was lost.

He shoved that deep down inside him, though. Everything was painful these days, even the possibility of friendship. Guilt and pain and apprehension? No, he couldn’t do this now - he would leave in the morning and it would all be irrelevant anyway. He would be a world away from you and it wouldn’t matter how much he enjoyed the company. No use thinking too much about it know. 

You went back to work on your computer.

He still didn’t know what to do with himself.

You seemed to notice, though, and took pity on him. “You can get dinner started, if you want.”

His whole body relaxed. He could do that much for you, at least.

He got out some ingredients, and had to look in five different places to find a knife - they were hidden deep inside one of the cabinets, shoved underneath some Tupperware. 

He’d barely started chopping the vegetables when you blew past him, frantic, eyes wide and hair messy, and ran outside. You hadn’t even bothered with a raincoat - no one went without one, even with how infrequent timefall was now.

He stood at the doorway for a moment, baffled. But it all became clear when he moved to look at your computer.

Security footage was playing on a loop. One of Bridges’ feeds, out near Capital Knot. It was time-stamped for that morning at 09:42.

At first it looked like any other porter drop-off he’d seen. Fragile dropped off the cargo and began walking to the road. 

Just as she was almost out of frame, she froze, body going tense. She tugged something out of her neck with a visible wince. A second later her frame was wracked with tremors, starting in her hands then progressing through to her arms and legs.

She fell.

Her head hit the pavement, and Cliff knew that if the feed had sound, it would’ve made a sickening crack. Fragile lay still.

 _A tranquilizer dart,_ hummed the back of his mind.

Blood pooled around her skull.

A white-gloved hand came just into frame to touch her arm - and Fragile disappeared in a flash of black shimmers. The hand retracted. 

There was no other sign of the assailant. The feed was empty again. 

Cliff ran after you.

\--

You tore out of your shelter, not bothering to pull on a suit or Odradek. It was too hot and cramped, you were about to burst, this was all too much. You needed space, you needed to breathe.

Of course as soon as you thought something might finally start to be alright with you two Fragile gets kidnapped! What the hell was wrong with these people? Why did they even care? Why were they taking people?

You blinked away tears as you shambled to your greenhouse.

You needed to hit something.

You rummaged around your pumpkin patch and found the squashiest pumpkin you had. Then you grabbed your shovel from the supply closet. Then you pulled the shovel over your head, and you slammed the shovel into the gourd. The sound you made was inhuman, a hot rush coursing through your veins. You were so _angry!_

And then you did it again.

It gave a smack-squelch sound and caved in, guts oozing out of the gaping cracks you’d made. Your hands were shaking? You hit it. Your knees wobbling? You hit it. Fet like your heart was ready to burst? You hit it. You hit it again. And again, and again, letting its gross pumpkin guts get all over your clothes. Were you screaming? You weren’t sure if you were screaming or not. You didn’t care. Your friend was gone.

By the time the pumpkin was nothing more than puree you were spent and sweaty and gross, panting and flushed. You didn’t even notice how hard you were crying until you wiped pumpkin seeds from your cheek and it felt all teary.

You… didn’t really feel better either. Just less pissed off and more sad. Empty, like someone had hollowed out your insides and replaced them with cotton.

You heard footsteps on the grass behind you.

Damn it! You didn’t need Cliff seeing you like this! God, how embarrassing. You turned around reluctantly, shoulders slumping and shovel barely in your grasp. 

There he was, warm eyes and kind heart. 

That was almost enough to get you crying again - you weren’t used to people caring enough to come after you. People out here took care of themselves.

You saw him take in the scene - the destroyed pumpkin, the seeds on your clothes, the tears streaming down your face. He cautiously cracked a smile, after a moment, “If I had known you were making pumpkin pie I would have helped.”

You laughed and burst into tears at the same time, dropping your shovel. That was such a stupid thing to say! He was ridiculous! You covered your face in your hands, mortified but unable to stop crying. 

You and Fragile never truly reconciled - you had just ignored your argument altogether and held a tense peace.

You felt like the worst friend on the planet.

And now someone had taken her.

Careful hands rested on your arms, lightly pulling you in. You could have resisted if you wanted to; you could’ve told him to go away, to leave you alone and he would have done it in a heartbeat. But you’d been crying alone for so long.

So you let him pull you close, let him gently wrap his arms around you as you cried. He was warm, and had strong arms, and you cried into his shirt like some damsel in a shitty movie. But you felt safe. “It’ll be alright.” He murmured into your hair. You could feel his voice rumbling in his chest. You clung to the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. “You’ll find her.”

You knew those were empty platitudes, that neither of you had any idea what the future would bring.

But for now, just for tonight, you would choose to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by the need for therapy. I hope I’m holding the right balance between vague and intriguing with Reader-San’s flashbacks. They won’t feel like going into full detail until much later, so I hope its enough to almost tell what happened, but not quite.  
> Anytime I mention singing you can insert whatever song you want, btw.  
> I would also like to apologize to the Fragile and Higgs stans. This fic isn’t really nice to them and I really am sorry about that, but Fragile’s teleportation is too convenient. How else am I going to get (Y/n) and Cliff to hike across the Rockies, huh?  
> So what do you guys think? I’d really appreciate some feedback, I don’t have a beta so I’m not sure.  
> I hope you enjoyed it!  
> Edit: Changed what Higgs said.


End file.
